Claimed by the Secret Agent Read online

She wasn’t above using coercion. She put a tentative hand on his arm and squeezed. “Please?”

  He glanced at her hand and then at her smile. But he didn’t look as if he’d give an inch. “You’re going to the hospital, Beauclair. You need an exam, a drug test and a rape kit.”

  Yes, well, there was that. She had bruises in all the right places, and that made her even madder. That bastard had raped the victim he’d killed. Not the others, though. If the reports could be believed.

  She didn’t think she’d been raped, but the fact that she’d been drugged, manhandled and made helpless was reason enough to want her kidnapper’s head on a plate. Right along with whoever was giving him orders. She quickly dismissed that line of thinking so she wouldn’t give herself away to Tyndal.

  “After the exam?” she asked.

  “I’ll officially debrief you and call in the results. Then you go home. To the States. You’re from Atlanta?”

  She ignored the query. Since he’d been sent after her, he’d know that. “Look, I’m okay and perfectly capable of helping you catch this guy. I’ve actually seen him, and I know his voice. Will you at least consider it? Maybe request my help officially?” she asked, trying to suppress her anger and sound sweet. “Because if you don’t, I might not have anything else to say to you.”

  “Obstruction of justice. Familiar with that phrase? It can send you to jail,” he warned. Then her earlier statement seemed to register. “You can identify him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ll get an artist to work with you, but that’s as far as you can go on this.”

  Marie retreated, but she didn’t surrender. She never surrendered. There was always a way. She’d simply take another tack. “How far are we from Landstuhl?”

  “About thirty miles.”

  She could see pretty well now even though it was going to be a gray day and would probably rain soon. “Take me to the nearest krankenhaus instead. My feet are bleeding and I’m dehydrated.”

  Stealing a vehicle might be necessary to get away from him, and that would be easier in a small hospital not peopled with soldiers.

  He immediately moved to the far right lane and took the next exit. For a few minutes she thought she was getting her way, but he pulled off on a side road and stopped the car.

  She watched him reach into the backseat and retrieve a gray plastic box. “First-aid kit. Brought it in case we needed it when I found you.”

  He pushed his seat back all the way and then unhooked his seat belt and hers. “Turn sideways and put your feet in my lap.”

  “No!”

  “I’m a qualified medic. Worst foot, please.”

  Marie’s muscles were almost too tense to move, but she managed to turn. He helped her lift her legs and took her left foot in both his hands. She barely managed not to jerk it out of his grasp.

  His glance raked her thighs before she could cover them with the blanket. Was it prurient, or was he checking for damage? Hard to tell. He didn’t look all that salacious, but the old paranoia had kicked in.

  “There’s no telling what you stepped on in that alley,” said, his tone gentle, almost a drawl.

  She noticed his accent for the first time. It was faint but still there. Probably hadn’t registered before because it was so close to her own. “You’re from the South. Where?”

  “Alabama. Anniston, originally. Army brat, though, so I lived all over the place.” His hands were gentle as he continued examining her feet. “We’d better get these cuts cleaned up a little and wrapped before we go any farther. Uh-huh, that one might need a few stitches. Don’t want a nasty infection.”

  He opened his door and slid out from under her feet. A moment later he returned with two bottles of water, one of which he handed her to drink. Setting the other on the ground, he then ripped the plastic off a roll of paper towels.

  “Hand me the kit and get as comfortable as you can. I expect this will hurt a little bit,” he warned.

  Marie remembered she should sip the water slowly. She shuddered in spite of herself when he uncapped the other bottle of water to pour over her feet.

  She sipped again, feeling the coolness slide all the way down to her empty stomach. “Consider it payback…since I hurt you.” She slid down farther in the seat so that her feet were sticking outside the car on his side. “Go ahead.”

  His touch was light considering the size of his hands, but she didn’t like to be touched, not by him or anyone else.

  He was large all over, she noted, not just his hands. She’d have to stay aware. “Ow…ow…ow!” she yelped.

  “There. I doused them with peroxide, too. That ought to do until you get them debrided. Like I said, you might need stitches in the left one.” He proceeded to wrap both her feet in gauze. “Go ahead, sit up and finish the water. I’ll find you something to put on.”

  He disappeared and she heard him open the trunk again. In a few minutes he returned and tossed her a pair of socks and black sweats. “These will swallow you whole, but at least you’ll be rid of that scratchy blanket. Don’t take anything off but that. Roll it up and I’ll bag it.”

  He shrugged and stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I’ll just…wait back there while you dress. Unless you need help?”

  “I’ll manage,” she gasped. Marie grabbed the clothes and wrestled them on as quickly as she could.

  He was surprisingly thoughtful. Maybe he was softening to the idea of letting her work with him. Or not. He probably thought she was a big baby. She swiped the tears from her face when she realized she’d been crying. Dammit. She never cried.

  “All done?” he asked before looking inside.

  “Ready,” she said, hating the thickness of tears in her voice.

  He got back in and handed her an energy bar to eat. Then he put the old blanket in a paper bag he’d brought. “Evidence,” he explained as if she didn’t know. Then he promptly started the car and drove back onto the autobahn. “Feeling better?”

  “I told you I’m fine. Thanks for the clothes.” She fell quiet then, bit into the energy bar and just watched him, really assessing him closely for the first time.

  He radiated confidence and was probably very good at his job, judging by his actions thus far. He had taken that painful squeeze and twist she’d given his essentials with the good grace not many men would.

  He was unusual in other ways, too. Not lecherous or superior for one thing. Most men saw her as fair game and, at the very least, offered suggestive looks or a condescending attitude. Usually both.

  Marie knew how she looked and used it, even enhanced it to the max. That helped in her job as an undercover operative. It was actually difficult to present a different impression than little blond airhead because she stayed in that character so much of the time.

  She was short and slightly built. Dainty, some called her. Dimples, baby-doll features and pale blond hair had always caused her more trouble than not, but they also gave her that necessary edge. She had mastered the wide-eyed, vacant-headed smile, complete with a self-deprecating little laugh of incomprehension. She must look pretty rough right now, but that should have piqued his sympathy if nothing else. So far, he’d treated her like a fellow agent who had just been through a rough time. Unusual and, she admitted, very welcome.

  People, especially men, never gave her credit for a brain; yet not once had Tyndal talked down to her. So maybe he didn’t make automatic assumptions based on appearance.

  Neither did she, but she couldn’t help noticing how he looked. Impossible not to. Maybe she’d seen better-looking guys in her time, but he certainly was no slouch in that department. In fact, he had a commanding presence, sort of rugged and suave at the same time. His voice was a bit gravelly and had that slight Southern drawl. In your face, but with a smile, that was him.

  His hair was salt and pepper, obviously graying early, since the rest of him looked early to midthirties. The eyes were light, either gray or blue, and really intense. Good strong nos
e and his mouth…Well, that mouth…didn’t matter, she told herself firmly and jerked her gaze away from his profile.

  Her overall impression was that Agent Tyndal was hot as hell, self-assured with good reason. And as stubborn as mule, she’d bet. A real challenge.

  Now then, what would be the best way to appeal to him? How could she persuade him to let her go after these kidnappers without giving him the impression that her reason was personal? It was personal. Nobody yanked her around like a helpless rag doll anymore and got away with it. Nobody! If she let that happen again, it negated all her years of hard work, all that she had become.

  She had to devise something before he put her on a plane back to the States. No way would she let that happen. She’d disappear first, and she damn well knew how.

  Chapter 2

  H e wasn’t going to budge. Marie decided that if she disappeared in Landstuhl, she’d be found almost immediately, so she had to go to plan B. She had to play it weak if her plan was to work. She brushed a hand over her face, sighed and shook her head. “Could I ask you a huge favor?”

  “What?” He sounded a tad suspicious.

  She upped the weak factor a notch. “I really need to go by my apartment when we get to Munich, just for a few minutes. Could we please do that?”

  “All your stuff will probably have been packed up by now. I’m sure someone is detailed to bring your clothes and toiletries to the airport. I can call and check.”

  Again, she sighed before answering. “No, that won’t do. You see, it’s my grandmother’s ring. I really need to get it, and I know it’s still there. It’s pretty valuable. I keep it hidden away when I’m not wearing it, and whoever cleared my place won’t have found it. Please? I need to have that.”

  Marie could feel Tyndal’s gaze on her, assessing the truth of her motive. She looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading, the best little-girl-lost look she could do.

  He shrugged. “Well, if we just run in and get it, I guess it would be okay.”

  “Thanks so much. It means so much to me.” She hesitated, then added, “Maybe I could just take a quick shower while we’re there?” She offered him a wry little smile and ran a hand through her hair. “I hate to stay this way.”

  He looked sympathetic. “Sure. That should be all right.”

  Piece of cake. Acting ability intact! Satisfied, she snapped on her seat belt, leaned against the window and settled in to take a nap on the way to the hospital.

  Grant took a good, long look at her for the first time as she exited the exam room. It seemed before he’d only taken in bits and pieces of her at the time—dirty face, big round china-blue eyes, messy hair, cut-up feet and a milk-white length of exposed leg.

  Now she stood there, eyeing him with a mixture of mistrust and gratitude that defied description. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman combine those two expressions while looking at him.

  She looked like a little warrior queen, battered but undefeated, absolutely driven to thrive and to seek retribution. That determination would fade, he knew. As soon as the adrenalin rush subsided, and it would, she’d probably collapse in tears and be perfectly willing to get as far away from Germany as was humanly possible.

  But right now she was a picture to behold, so tiny in his oversize sweats and socks, one hand on her hip while the other impatiently raked the tousled blond curls back off her brow.

  For a minute he saw Betty Schonrock, the first girl he’d ever loved. Beauclair had that same challenging lift of the chin. Aside from both having blond hair and small frames, the resemblance ended there. She wasn’t Betty, but seeing Beauclair safe and knowing he’d had a hand in it caused a little of the weight to lift off his chest.

  He had been head over heels for Betty, who’d been almost four years older, a senior at Frankfurt American High School when he was a lowly freshman. She had only spoken to him a few times, smiled at him now and then and rarely gave him a second look, but he’d loved her anyway.

  Suddenly she had disappeared without a trace. Everyone thought she was a runaway and the investigation hadn’t lasted even a week. Grant had never believed that Betty, a popular cheerleader and straight-A student about to graduate, would simply take off without a word and leave her charmed life behind. He was convinced she’d been abducted, but no one would listen to a thirteen year old who hadn’t even known her that well.

  His limited psychometric ability had failed him then, and so had his nearly nonexistent power of persuasion. But he had found this girl in time, and she was safe now. Wherever you are, Betty, this one’s for you. He felt marginally better.

  “How did it go?” he asked Beauclair. Probably not the most tactful question considering she’d just undergone an examination for possible rape, but he needed to know.

  “No damage. I’m okay,” she said, defenses up like a nearly visible force field.

  He doubted she was anywhere near okay but nodded his approval anyway. “Great, I’m glad to hear it. I guess we can go, then.”

  Grant knew he had to debrief her, ask for all the details of her abduction and captivity and get all he could on the kidnapper before sending her home. But he’d have to do that somewhere else and later, when she’d calmed down a little. Maybe after her meltdown.

  Who knew when that would happen? Soon, he expected. He knew from experience that the higher the adrenalin level, the harder one fell. The inquisition could wait awhile.

  He hated debriefing. Extraction of a hostage or victim was his thing; the rest of the job package, a necessary evil.

  Grant had to smile. Marie Beauclair hadn’t waited for a rescue. Spunky little devil had really saved herself. If he hadn’t been there, poised to make entry when he saw her coming out of that window, she’d probably have found help somewhere in the village and gotten back to Munich on her own.

  Unless she’d been caught in the back alleys or on a deserted street. The thought sent a chill up his spine. At least he’d quickly gotten her away from the scene, as ordered.

  That probably accounted for the smidgeon of thankfulness he saw in her eyes. The mistrust—he couldn’t figure it, unless she now feared men in general. Not that unusual, he supposed, given what she’d just been through.

  He should reassure her that he was only there to take care of her and keep her safe. “You’ll be all right now,” he said, reaching out to take her arm.

  She moved back before he could touch her. “I know. And I don’t need babying, so knock it off.”

  “Your feet…” he reminded her.

  “My feet are just fine. If I fall down, you can pick me up, okay?”

  “Okay,” he agreed with a sigh, “Miss Independent.”

  She shot him a glare that would curdle milk and stalked out the doors ahead of him. Testy little thing, but he chalked that up to her ordeal and didn’t blame her a bit.

  That made him wonder what she was like before. Soft as silk, he’d bet. He knew her type. He could almost picture her attending consulate functions in a slinky little black dress, that cloud of hair done up on top of her head, natural-looking makeup that took hours to apply. And killer stilettos on those pretty little feet.

  He glanced at her hands. She had the badly chipped remnants of a French manicure, and her wrists looked raw. His lips tightened in anger at the bastard who’d tied her up and scared her to death.

  “Don’t be afraid he’ll find you,” Grant told her. “We’ll see that you’re safe.”

  She gave a short cough of disbelief as she stopped in her tracks and narrowed those wide blue eyes. “He damn well better be afraid I’ll find him!”

  Grant shook his head and suppressed a smile. “Get in the car, tiger.”

  He couldn’t help feeling sorry for Marie. She’d had a horrible experience, and he thought the exam at the hospital hadn’t been any fun, either. Even though she hadn’t been raped, he knew how violated she felt.

  He had believed her determined bravado was beginning to fade when she’d gotten a bit teary and plead
ed with him to go by her apartment. He was afraid just being where she was abducted would set her off, but she seemed to need that ring she mentioned. Maybe that symbolized some small victory over the kidnapper, that he hadn’t found it or taken it from her.

  When they arrived in Munich, Marie gave Grant directions to her apartment, a second-floor walk-up in a German neighborhood near the consulate.

  They stopped at the super’s flat and got a key. The old man was inordinately glad to see her, apologizing profusely for the fact that someone might have copied his keys and stolen access to her flat from him.

  Grant noted that Beauclair spoke excellent Deutsch and conversed easily with the man as she reassured him he’d done nothing wrong. She looked to Grant for backup.

  “The report said the lock showed signs of tampering,” Grant told him. “The man was a professional. No one’s holding you responsible, Herr Horst.”

  Marie thanked Grant with a perfunctory nod and a smile, shook the super’s hand and headed upstairs. No hesitation, he noted. She didn’t seem afraid to return to the kidnap scene.

  “Where’d you learn German?” Grant asked as they climbed the stairs.

  “A retired teacher, a neighbor and friend. She was fluent in several languages and began teaching me early on. She said it might help me land a job when I grew up, and she was right. I had an ear for it, my memory made it easy, and we both enjoyed it.”

  “Lucky you. I lived over here for several years and still had to suffer through language school to get it right.”

  “Defense Language Institute at the Presidio?”

  “Yeah. You ever been there?” he asked.

  “Nope, just heard about it. I haven’t traveled much yet, even over here. I planned to. That’s one of the primary reasons I volunteered for the position, but they’ve kept me too busy since I arrived.”

  She stood back as he unlocked the door for her and went in first to check things out.

  He liked that she was prudent enough to let him do that. However, she didn’t seem at all leery about entering the apartment. Brave of her, or else she was a damn good actress.